"Stay away from here," the sheepdog grumbled. The broom in his hands trembled lightly as he spoke, but it was evident that it still held strong in his arms, with crystal-clear intentions on its methods of usage. Shiro felt a raging determination seething through the sheepdog’s presence like some ethereal sixth sense, tingling his spine. Shiro couldn't see his eyes through the fur, but he was sure the look would be anything but friendly.

Shiro didn’t need another look at the broom in front of his face, plus it being that specific broom, to know that it would be wise to submit to the sheepdog's instructions, for the alternative was far worse. Rooted in place, Shiro slowly extended a hand towards the doorknob. He slowly wrapped his fingers around it carefully, as not to alarm the angry dog in front of him. He was just about to pull the door close when the sheepdog growled again.

"Don't move."

Like a paused movie screencap, Shiro halted. But he did it not from the barked order, but from the confusion. He wasn't sure whether he was supposed to stay still, or make himself scarce, as both would lead him to possible fatal ends. Laden with two choices and a dilemma, he found himself between a rock and a hard place. His mind started churning like a struggling steam engine short of coal. He was contradicted, facing a crossroad where both ways would lead him to cliffside drops. WIth the broom and his unfortunate demise looming ever so closely, Shiro had to make a decision. And one he did in a split second.

He dove headfirst towards the crossroad - towards the sign-bearer himself.

I… cannot… do… both…, Shiro mouthed silently towards the sheepdog.

"Not you," the sheepdog’s growl rumbled from his gruff, hoarse tone. He slowly brought the broom upwards, diverting the little pricks upwards. It ended up facing Lucille, who had jumped onto Shiro’s head so eagerly before, and was now tingling with much enthusiasm.

"You," the sheepdog grumbled.

Lucille answered the sheepdog with a low, droning, threatening hiss atop Shiro’s head. He could feel her eight-legs tapping wildly. The wolf spider jittered with excitement, her tiny body exploding in miniature motions, stirring in her small frame. She was practically shaking under the weight of her uncontrolled delirium.

“Stay away from here you filthy old hag.”

Lucille replied with a dangerous shrill.

A standoff ensued. The sheepdog held his weapon with iron determination, firm in his resolution to keep the doorway uncrossed, and the springing spider out and away from its vicinity. Lucille, the springing spider herself, shivered from her strong, unhinged zeal, barely held within her tiny body. No one knows what goes on in her arachnid mind, but it’s very certain to say that the sheepdog wouldn’t like it.

And during all that, Shiro, the poor middle man, stuck in an undesired position, wished to excuse himself from his predicament. The wolf found himself sitting between the mercy of an unstoppable force and an unmovable object, locked in a war where mercy means defeat, and none had planned on walking home dry tonight.

Seconds trailed past, loaded with a weighty silence as everything fell to a pause. Nothing seemed to move for a very long time, or rather, nothing dared to move. The pressure culminating between the sheepdog and Lucille was so strong that the fact that Shiro's legs still held was a miracle in its own right. If a black hole started manifesting right before their eyes, no one would question it. Neither the sheepdog nor Lucille would notice it anyway; they’ll just stare right through it with great wrath and indignation.

The frenzied sensation within Lucille was contained into a concentrated weight so heavy that Shiro could feel the emotion through each of her hairy legs pressing against his head. It felt as if she would spontaneously burst in one oomph of power and split Shiro's head apart in a cantaloupe. Shiro dared not to move, fearing that one stimulus was enough to tick the miniature time bomb stooping above his head.

The sheepdog wasn’t letting up either. He held the broom firm strong, and his stance relaxed but braced, as if he's readying himself to bring the house down. It made him seem that he was ready to bring down the canine equivalent of hell down on Lucille. The problem was that Shiro was part of the equation, but the sheepdog didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he probably wouldn’t care either. Every intent within the sheepdog’s body was to keep the wolf spider away from him, and he seemed very eager to keep with his intention, regardless of any unfair casualties.

Shiro had to say something. He wasn’t planning on being the collateral damage to these two’s unknown feud. He had to think of something. He had a vengeful sheepdog with a broom capable of high-calibre violence in front of him. The jumpy trigger was sitting right atop his head, preparing to fire at any given moment. Shiro felt Lucille’s legs thumping against his head like a furious drummer, lashing out in thunderous crashes and vicious snares, as if it's awaiting for the inevitable open window of chance.

Shiro started thinking hard. His brain began running fast, powered by his instinctual will to survive. It was to a point where he'd never thought this hard before. His mind shifted to a previously unknown, undiscovered gear. The cogs in his head spun at a lightspeed rate. He considered every possible scenario and its conclusion by the blink of an eye. He was gambling every odds and tackling every risk by the millisecond. He was thinking like his life depended on it, which isn't far from the truth.

Problem was that Shiro never thinked much in his entire life.

Everything conclusion his mind came to would land him on varying consequences all equally as hopeless as the last. What’s worse is that he didn’t even notice them. He just went by his own flawed common sense, thinking it'd pull him out of this situation. He was thinking so fast he never realized that he was thinking everything wrong. At one point, he thought of shouting his lungs out to distract the both and simply bolt away. He thought of snatching Lucille by the top of his head and tossing her into the corridors as if he’s solving a problem by putting it far away. He even thought of tackling the sheepdog down to the ground like a touchdown in a rugby match and prayed to whatever God there is  sitting high up in the clouds that the broom doesn’t end up between them. His thirst for survival clouded his judgement so much that he was instinctually avoiding sensical verdicts like landmines.

And this all happened in a space of a second. Right at the last moment, Shiro arrived at a conclusion so terrible that it is impossible to put it in a grammatically correct sentence. He executed the awful plan right at the first tick of the first second and lowered his head down in a fraction, intent on executing his abysmal tactic down to its final, disastrous step.

Luckily, his catastrophic strategy was successfully thwarted and undone at the same time, and by none other than Lucille herself. Shiro thought very wrong very fast, but not fast enough, evidently. Right before the first tick of the first second where Shiro finalized his plan, Lucille made her move.

The jumpy wolf spider finally jumped upwards, right when Shiro ducked. The sheepdog, already psyched-up with anticipation, threw the broom into a savage sideways arc. A sharp woosh stung through the air as the knife-edged pricks flew under and overhead both Lucille and Shiro respectively, narrowly missing the spider’s legs and dangerously brushing against the wolf’s ears. Lucille leapt straight past the sheepdog. The sheepdog wrestled his arms and swept the broom into a full circle, barely missing the spider by an inch.

In one burst the sheepdog flung himself into the door, yelling at the top of his lungs, tearing towards Lucille.

“VOX, THE OLD HAG’S BROKEN IN AGAIN!”

The sheepdog swiftly disappeared from Shiro's view, with the broom last seen raised over his head, iron-willed and steeled to bring down a good thrashing.

Shiro was stunned in a trance. Just as he was betting his safety and livelihood for survival, the problem conveniently leaped off his head and became someone else's. The sudden, welcoming sense of relief washed over his body and released him from the pressure. His knees, unprepared from its sudden discharge from mental captivity, nearly gave way and fell. He slowly got up to his feet, clutching the briefcase under his shoulders as if it's some sort of grounded support.

Then a cacophony erupted just beyond the doorway.

A ringing clash of metal and wood blasted through the room, accompanied with a healthy dose of screeching barks by the sheepdog. The noise exploded right into Shiro's face and rang his ears numb. Every hit and blow sounded real and solid to his sensitive drums, making him all the more thankful that it wasn't him that was facing the broom.

The unseen bedlam proceeded for some time as Shiro stood outside, listening to whatever chaotic racket that was firing off within the wall

"SHE'S UNDER THE BED- DARN IT VOX, GET OUT OF THAT BLOODY HOLE AND HELP ME!"

The clatter dimmed out to mere thumps, as if the sound was being covered. Shiro heard swishes and mild biffs, piquing his interest. Slowly, he approached the doorway, stepping into the room when the sheepdog yelled out once more.

"SHE'S OUT! SHE'S GOT THE MAGAZINE! GRAB HER-"

Then a dark, brown blur suddenly whizzed into view mid-air from the corner of the wall.

Lucille, in all her wolf spider glory, leapt through the doorway with her legs outstretched, screeching off in high-pitched, victorious glee, her fangs open and free. A magazine almost quadruple her size was fitted between her hind legs, fluttering behind as she gracefully flew towards Shiro in one swooping motion.

Before Shiro could register the bizarre sight before him, the frenzied sheepdog came rushing behind with his valiant weapon outstretched like a spear, hopelessly prodding the thin air just behind the spider’s dust.

"CATCH HER," the sheepdog yelled, "GRAB THE MAG-"

It was all too late. By the time the sheepdog yelled GRAB Lucille was already halfway out of the corridor, well out of reach. The sheepdog caught up to Shiro, only to hopelessly look in disdain as his prey left with not only his trophy but with a cheeky, arachnid grin that would keep even the most virtuous furiously up at night for days to come. The sheepdog, useless in his efforts, could only clutch his weapon and witness in vehement anger as the spider delivered her final show of insolence in the form of a jubilant shrill before bouncing off to a blind corner of the hallway with the remnants of his pride.

"Darn it, she’s got it again” the sheepdog growled, “Should’ve held the fort with some pepper spra-”

Then he stopped his sentence halfway.

There, resting slightly crumpled in Shiro’s hands, was a magazine very similar to the one held between Lucille’s hind legs moments ago. The sheepdog took a closer look, only to find that it is exactly the same magazine held between Lucille’s hind legs just moments ago. The sheepdog stared at the pages held within Shiro’s palm, baffled to the point where he was left speechless right then.

As for Shiro, he was doing a reality check.

The title of the magazine held in his palms bore the title Monthly Mongrel. The cover featured a very shapely canine, or more specifically, a female Cocker Spaniel, as a model. Shiro knew this due to the fact that there being a giant line of text printed in bold, pink letters specifying her breed. There was also a stark lack of clothing to be seen on the dog.

It didn’t take long for Shiro to realize what he was holding in his hand.

Unfortunately, it took the sheepdog a little while longer for him to do the same. He was still hung up on how Shiro got the magazine, and not the magazine itself, currently sitting in the wolf's palms in full view for anyone with a keen eye.

“You got the magazine!” The sheepdog showed genuine amazement and puzzlement as he approached Shiro. “But how? I saw it! She jumped out with the darn thing in her legs but now it's in your hand and-"

Then the sheepdog realized.

He didn't immediately act, though. He just suddenly stopped talking, got temporarily stupefied by the realization for a moment and then proceeded to snatch the magazine away right from Shiro’s palms. Shiro didn’t seem to notice as he stared into the empty space between his hands, still stunned by the sight he held before his eyes mere moments ago.

The sheepdog’s disbelief and bafflement all went away as quickly as he hid the magazine behind his back. He muttered, “T-thanks for getting it back."

The sheepdog’s voice managed to snap Shiro back from his trance. “R-right,” the wolf mumbled.

"You've got good reflexes, eh?" the sheepdog remarked in a stiff, tense manner as he slowly shoved the magazine further away from Shiro's view behind his back.

"Y-yea," Shiro replied as he averted his eyes, trying his best not to notice.

Then the sheepdog cleared his throat. “Ahem, well, this isn’t what I’d call a good first impression but-”

Then he put down the broom, dusted both his hands and extended a palm towards Shiro, “The name’s Romphaneous. Friends call me Romps. I’m a bearded collie, but I’m also a sheepdog if that’s difficult to remember.”

From the recent fiasco, Shiro hadn’t got a good look at the sheepdog. But for now, he had caught a full glimpse of Romps, and the first word that came to mind was “hairy”.

The bearded collie, or sheepdog as Shiro personally preferred, didn’t look like a dog with an abundance of fur, but a humanoid tuft of hair that could somehow move autonomously. An avalanche of snowy white fell from the tip of his head to the bottom of the feet, covering every single square inch of exposed space on his body, with a little tinge of light grey to be spotted. He had a white tank top accompanied by a pair of black jeans, wrapping his body tight with fur leaking out of the cuffs. He didn’t seem to be wearing them but rather, the clothes were constricting his puffy body tight. He stood quite short, about a head shorter than Shiro, with a wide, stout posture that seemed to be the byproduct of his furry semblance. Shiro imagined the actual canine himself to be a skinny, slender dog under the coat.

Shiro shook Romps’ hand and muttered, “Uh, m-my name’s-”

“Shiro, right? No need to be nervous, practically everybody knows you at this point,” Romps spoke in a rather plummy accent, “Everybody in the Academy was at the auditorium this morning! An outsider transfer student whose name comes blank in everyone’s head, has no known connection and supposedly, has never heard of the place before! Now that’s a mystery anyone has to see.”

Shiro heard Romps but he wasn’t quite listening. He had one eye fixed on the sheepdog’s mouth, which seemed more like a ruffling beard making noises, with the other struggling to find Romps’ eyes, with the only sole indication of its position being the hairy space sitting above a black shrouded, wet bump on his snout that Shiro presumed to be his nose.

Then something else caught Shiro’s attention.

As he shook Romps’ palm, he found his fingers sinking deeper and deeper into his hair, so much so that Romps’ hand seemed to be eating up Shiro’s. What’s more was how comfortable the inside of his palm felt like. Romps’ rich, luscious fur wasn’t just for show; it was pleasantly warm and cozy within.

“Hey,” Romps’ called out.

Shiro looked up to Romps’ face and immediately came to his senses, “Ah, I’m sor-”

“No, no, no,” Romps held onto Shiro’s palm when he tried to pull back, “Lots of guys do it when they shake my hand. Here, give it a squeeze."

Shiro was intrigued and admittedly, weirded out by Romps’ request. Then the warmth convinced him otherwise and he gave Romps’ palm a good squeeze.

It felt divine.

The fur melted into a formless, liquid-like texture, filling every empty space in Shiro’s hand. He felt the sensations of waves coursing through the valleys of his palm, soothing every line and crevice, seething comfort into his worked fingers. The feeling was so pleasant Shiro didn't even notice that Romps' fur was so thick that he couldn't touch Romps' actual hand. Just the mere shape of Romps' hold was enough on its own.

"Snug as a bug in a rug, right?" Romps gave Shiro a cheeky grin.

Shiro didn't know what that meant, but if it stood for something along the lines of unparalleled comfort and ease then he’s all for it. He fell so much into serenity that he was clenching away without caution. It was that relaxing. Tranquility filled every pore in his body, mind and soul. It was as if the whole day had never happened, and that it was just a meaningless padding of time, an empty space within the fabric of the universe, just holding Shiro back from experiencing the physical form of luxury.

“Indeed, I’m really proud of my fur,” Romps retracted his hand, much to Shiro’s reluctance, “There’s no getting cold for this hairy cur! I’ve never done anything to it, other than my usual grooms. I’ve never even cut it! Well, not since my fifth birthday anyway. I just let it shed in the shower. It’s hard work, but it’s darn worth it for this fur coat I have on-”

Then Romps stopped mid sentence. He slowly drew his eyes towards Shiro, and broke out a splitting grin that stretched his beard from one floppy ear to another. He slowly opened his arms, extending it to both of his shoulders and said, “Come on.”

Shiro was confused at first as to what Romps meant. He understood neither the smile nor his open arms and felt a little disquieted by it. Then something clicked in his mind. He finally realized, and thought he simply couldn’t do so.

“Come on,” Romps said again, with the grin still on his face, “I know you want it; you know you want it; anybody who touched the hand would want the full experience. Don’t be shy, now, eh?”

On one hand, Shiro was inclined to stay shy. He had to. He considered it to be courtesy, like a common practice of being offered a drink in someone’s house and giving a ‘no thanks, it’s fine’ response. It shows manners, and keeps you from being titled as a spoiled brat. Here is a man he’s destined to spend the rest of his schooling years with and a situation like that calls for a rather decent first impression.

But, on the other hand, what Shiro felt was no delusion.

Shiro stared at Romps like the open gates of heaven. He was looking deep into an uncharted utopia, full of comfort and warmth and a degree of coziness no fluffy bed could possibly surpass. He was being offered the experience of a lifetime. The sacred embrace. The hallowed cuddle. The embosoming Shiro couldn’t possibly indulge. One handshake was enough to invoke such emotions. He couldn’t imagine it multiplied tenfold across his torso. It was no simple show of bond and camaraderie. It was a poisonous chalice of emotional cravings. A hug to end all hugs.

Shiro was hesitant. His heart wavered, doubtful and irresolute in its absolute decision. He was to forfeit his self-respect or miss out on comfort only describable as paradisiacal. A choice of a lifetime; a resolve of principles; a commitment of standards.

Then it didn’t matter anyway when Romps went in for the hug himself instead.

Shiro never owned any stuffed animal in his childhood and hence, he never understood the immense craze kids have over their dolls that is, at times, borderline monomania. It was until that one moment when it all opened up to him. A flood gate was blown open and Shiro drowned in enlightenment. The softness, akin to the fluffiest of pillows, cuddling him into blissful rapture. The warmth enveloped his body, radiating through every pore, comforting every cell. The sense of security indirectly conveyed through the relief brought by simple companionship of a fuzzy, furry dog giving a warm hug relayed an understanding to Shiro no combination of words could rival.

Shiro didn't care for any external factors. His mind faded away subconsciously and simply lived the moment. After what happened today, all it really took to heal him was a warm hug. It needn't be the right intention, just the action itself was enough.

Shiro had a good feeling about this roommate.

Romps eventually let go. The sheepdog picked up the broom and said, "Alright, follow me.”

Recharged, relieved and refilled with enthusiasm, he nodded and followed.

Romps led Shiro into an adequately sized room. It’s not so big as to seem grand or imposing, nor is it so small as to feel suffocating for Shiro’s frame and size. It’s a commodious dwelling, just right on all the angles and space it provides. It gave Shiro a homely feel he hadn’t felt in this Academy until then. As he walked in the air conditioning blew a soft, soothing breeze through his fur, relieving the various aches in his tired body. It was like a physical effect of some calmative drug.

The room itself however, wasn’t as appealing as its capacity. Clothes were strewn about the place, some crumpled while others balled up into piles across the floor. “Ah, pardon me,” Romps exclaimed as he propped the broom against the wall, “just- uh- look around while you give me a second, yeah? Darn you Vox, why won’t you help me even with a  guest around…”

Shiro took up the advice and scanned through the whole place. As Romps picked up his laundry piles, Shiro examined the white, virgin walls of the dorm, feeling the cool air radiating from the wooden floor. Two pairs of bunk beds sat on opposite sides of the rooms, adjacent to the entrance, which sat on the far right. The bunk bed on the left was obviously heavily occupied. The lower bunk was a chaotic display of cotton, with a blanket, a pillow and a bolster fighting for domination over a heavily creased mattress cover. However, this didn’t seem as weird as the upper bunk that had what seemed to be light, orange curtains propped up on all sides of the bunk akin to a tent, with a pale glow emitting from within. There was an open space, though, but only on the side where the ladder is propped against.

Opposed to the left bunk bed, the right side was completely vacant, both upper and lower bunk, and Shiro spotted his accomodation for the rest of his schooling years.

Sitting right in the middle is a round table, with a fluffy rug stuck right under. A light fixture was hanging on the ceiling; a smoked, glass dome, shimmering a dim, light yellow across the place.

Romps was quick to transfer all his clothes from strewn bits into one giant pile sitting on the foot of his bed. “So,” he said, dusting his hands off his tank top, “welcome to the communal sleeping quarters! This is where you’ll be berthed,” he pointed towards the right bunk bed, “where you work and eat,” then he pointed towards the round table, “and that’s where we steal each other’s snacks,” before pointing towards an adjoining kitchenette sitting on the far end where Shiro somehow didn’t notice.

Then Shiro got heavily interested.

Like a critic, Shiro began scrutinizing every square inch of the place at breakneck speed. If he had the vocabulary capacity, he would’ve described the place to be ‘minimalistically modern’. The flooring persisted with the sleeping quarters with the exception of the walls, which stayed pretty much the same but was tiled halfway from the bottom. A giant refrigerator sat on one corner. A small kitchen island sat in the middle, with a simple black, marble top and a smooth wooden cabinet base. The theme carried on to the counters and the cupboards, only interrupted by an electric stove and a pair of metal sinks, both filled to the brim with dirty plates and cups.

Evidently, hygiene wasn’t the top priority within this ménage.

Shiro didn’t express any opinions nor showed any feelings but something must’ve leaked out from his poise, because Romps swiftly added, “Ah, that’s fine. We usually just leave the washing over there. Maids come in every week to clean the place. They always wash up the kitchen while they’re at it.”

Shiro turned away from the unwashed masses of dishes and asked, “Maids?”

“Well…” Romps tapped on his beard-like chin, “Sometimes butlers, but yes, the dormoritary sends people to get all the rooms a refresh every weekend. They won’t touch anything that isn’t part of the dorm itself, unless you give them specific instructions or leave them a note or something along the lines of it.”

They really go extra around here, Shiro thought to himself.

That explained why the place didn’t look like a complete pigsty; damage control arrives on a weekly basis  to hold the fort. Nevertheless, considering how they were only halfway through the week, the priority for self-management in this household was lower than Shiro expected.

Shiro asked Romps, “Is it okay if I-”

“-look around? Of course,” Romps answered, “Help yourself ‘round here! Go crazy on the snacks, but don't touch the unsalted peanuts, though; Vox hates it when his peanuts get eaten.”

Shiro heard nothing beyond “help yourself” and began rummaging through the cupboards and cabinets with frightening efficiency. He looked through every door and searched through every nook and cranny. Every corner was, unsurprisingly, stuffed to the brim with assorted snacks of every kind Shiro had ever bore to witness, and then some. Dried fruits to the saltiest of chips to the spiciest of deep-fried goods. No chocolate, though, as expected. Contrary to popular belief, cocoa-originated confectionery don't kill the average canine; they simply give your stomach a bad day. It's a lot like lactose intolerance. Most just consume a medical pill after consumption, while few take the risk head-on and brave the storm.

Luckily, this household wasn't occupied by such daredevils.

Shiro also noticed a starking lack of cooking utensils. Everywhere he looked, he couldn't find a single spatula or a knife, much less a pot or a pan. There was a kettle deep within one of the cabinets though, but it's dust-covered condition implied that it saw darkness longer than it saw fresh air.

Shiro turned around to ask, "Uh, Romps? Where's the-"

He caught Romps at the worst moment.

The sheepdog was down on all fours, sliding the magazine once burgled by Lucile under the bunk bed. He was also caught at the moment, and looked up to answer, "Yeah?" It took him a second to realize the predicament he'd put himself in front of his new guest and future roommate.

Both stared at each other, with neither able to express a single word. Shiro has his mouth ajar, unsure of what to act, much less what to say.

Then Romps blew a sigh and stood up. "Well, since we're both men, I'll be frank. Yes, I do have what one would call "the hots" and yes, I own such material to satisfy said desires. You have a problem with it?"

Shiro quickly shook his head.

"Good, good…" Romps said as he crouched back down. Then he froze for a second, turned to face Shiro and spread a wide, bearded grin onto the wolf.

"Want a look?"

Shiro was slightly thrown off by Romps' offer before saying, "I-I'm fine."

"C'mon, we're both men," the sheepdog spoke on a sly tone," Pick your poison! Do you like… this?!"

Romps flicked through the pages of the magazine and pulled out a double-page spread of the same female Cocker Spaniel on the cover flaunting her awesome figure against a backdrop of a tropical nirvana. Shiro didn't see the finer details as he flicked and averted his eyes so fast he nearly got whiplash.

"I'm good," he quickly said.

“You sure?”

Shiro quickly nodded.

“Well, that’s fine, but if you ever need to let off steam, you know where to find it, eh?” Romps went back down to his knees and slid the magazine under his bed.

Just as Romps crouched down, a question popped into Shiro’s head. It was a question that had been subconsciously nagging from the corner of his mind for a while, pleading for an answer. Never did the suitable time for the question arise until now. Assuming that there was never a better time than then, Shiro decided to ask.

“What’s Lucille wanting it for anyway?”

The sheepdog immediately stopped and froze into place as soon as Shiro brought up the wolf spider’s name. Romps then slowly slid his hand back out from under the bed, revealing it to be a fist, clenched with potent emotions that fared nothing well. Shiro panicked for a split second, thinking he had asked something that he shouldn’t and triggered something he’d otherwise spend the rest of his life never knowing of its existence.

Then Romps slammed his fist onto the laundry pile on his bed and burst into a rant, “That darn old hag! That dirty witch!! That spider’s been no good since the day I stepped in. She’s been doing this since my first year and hasn’t missed a day in ruining my life. And it’s my fourth year, I might add! What’s worse is that she’s never treated any other rooms except for this one! Even worse, she only does it to me! Me! Not Vox, but me!

“And she doesn’t just steal my things, she specifically steals the more- uh- sensitive things. My underwear; my private collections; and my magazines! She doesn’t even hide them! She only takes them with her every night and only returns it on the doorstep first thing in the morning! I have to wake up extra early and get them before anyone else sees it! You know what it feels like to pick up your boxers in front of all your mates?

“To think that she used to be friendly! She wasn’t always like this, you know. She used to be this little spider that comes around to hang out from time to time. We actually hit it off from the start. We were actually close to being real buds! She’ll always come in for company, maybe ruffle my fur or do her spider things or whatever, and I’ll let her feed on the flies in the kitchen sink. Then when I bought my first magazine she took a complete U-Turn and became a nuisance! Oh, she never stopped coming, alright. It’s just that this time, she came to be nothing but trouble!”

Then Romps stopped. He was left heaving breaths, having his heart completely poured out in an explosion of honesty. Shiro was left speechless, not by astonishment, but from the sight of a ruffling bunch of fur suddenly shaken with emotion, bursting in noises and action. His once smooth avalanche of fur was now tousled bunches of hair bouncing around.

The sheepdog took a few deep breaths, brushing his hand against his face, smoothing out his body, slowly calming down. “Ah, sorry about that,” he apologized, “had to let that out at some point. Thanks for asking, that was a good question. Now, what is it you need again?”

“W-Where d'ya keep the pots and pans?”

“That! Yes, just at the right time as well,” he exclaimed as he picked up the broom once more, “It’s part of the tour. Here, follow me.”

Romps led Shiro through the kitchen and towards a room sitting right next to the sleeping quarters, separated just by a wall. The room had the same design as the sleeping quarters but only half the size of it. Both were connected together through the kitchen. The room had a white dining table in the middle, with a similar light fixture sitting above it; smoked glass dome shining a pale, yellow light.

“Welcome to the common area,” Romps said, “It’s supposed to be a dining area but we do all the dining at the round table. Anything the round table can’t fit we bring it here and so far, at least in my four years, we never had the need. We don’t usually use this place, but- uh- well, it’s here and it exists.”

Romps took Shiro to the end of the common room, where a fibreglass door with wooden frames sat on one corner of the wall. Romps opened it up and said, “Here’s the communal bathroom. Standard things. You’ve got the basin, toilet, shower, bathtub, hot tub, heater, soap-dispenser, shampoo-dispenser, … you know, the usuals.”

Then Romps shut the bathroom and took him to the other end of the wall, “And this is where you find the ‘pots and pans’, as you say. Neither Vox or I know how to use them, we just throw them all in here.”

Shiro stared into the blank, empty wall and asked, “In where?”

Romps heaved out a laugh through his sizable belly. “Ah, it gets everyone the first time. Even me on my first day,” he said.

Shiro was tilting his head when Romps pushed onto a small, obscure space on a wall and revealed a door-sized crevice hidden within, reminiscence of Justice’s office. He pushed the wall in, revealing a room just behind it.

The room beyond the hole was a huge contrast with the one outside. Grey concrete surrounded the place, with dust on all four corners. It was long, slightly narrow and barely an inch taller than Romps, which meant Shiro had to duck to his shoulders to physically walk inside. Unlike outside, the air within is stuffy. Dark, musky air invaded Shiro's nose, forcing him to restrict his breath, lest he breathed in something undesirable.

"And here is the storeroom," Romps said.

Calling it a storeroom is an understatement. It seemed more like a warehouse, and a very unkempt one at that. There was a washing machine, a dryer, an ironing board and an abundance of tools and appliances piling on top of each other with little to no care. Most of them seemed more like museum relics than actual, usable items. Shiro found the pots and pans, but they seemed more akin to holding rust than actual foodstuff.

"Yes, well, we don't usually use these things," Romps explained as he tossed the broom back with the pile, "The dorm provides free laundry; just drop them in a laundry bag and tie it on the doorknob. They'll come back in neat, folded piles, cleaned and ironed. As for the other things, well-" Romps gave an embarrassed chuckle, "We needed space for the snacks."

Shiro could see the abundance of items left pitifully unused among the pile. Shiro spotted a toaster, a mop, some buckets, a vacuum cleaner and a dustpan that should’ve gone with the broom, but has no use since its counterpart was only used for pest-removal. Shiro even felt a sense of sympathy for the supposed ‘junk’ within the storeroom.

Then Shiro noticed something else. A path, seemingly carved out of the pile of tools. A messy passage that led to the other end of the storeroom. Sitting on the other end was a square, metal door with a latch on the top, fixed onto the middle of the wall.

"Right, that," Romps said as he noticed Shiro's glance. He pushed past Shiro and waddled through the pile, expertly dodging the stray tools like he was trained to do so, "This here is the garbage chute."

The sheepdog then held onto the latch and dropped it open. Immediately, the stench of rotten mutton filled the air and chicken bones exploded into the air. Shiro, who already had trouble taking in the air in the first place, was now rendered, quite literally, breathless. The smell was so thick Shiro started seeing actual fumes gliding through the air in front of him, seeping from the chute. Or were those just products of hallucination? Shiro could hardly handle the capacity to think while concentrating on physically shutting down every pore in his body. He couldn’t even bear to look. He clutched his sensitive canine nose and turned to the side, barely holding his composure.

“Sorry for the slight niff,” Romps started speaking away like the putridness wasn’t there at all, “Nothing ever goes in here, besides unfinished food and snack wrappings. It’s a funny thing, how this works. There’s like this sheet metal plate on the bottom that opens up during a very specific time every night. Before that, everything just piles up on the top so the-”

“I got it, I got it-” Shiro frantically spoke through his muffled voice as he tried his very best to unheave his stomach.

“Heh, you don’t want a look inside? Someone left a strange bag of junk on the doorstep today. Didn't know what it was so I tossed it in here. Want to see-"

“I’m fine,” Shiro was hanging onto the last few strands of his self-control.

“Alright,” Romps let go of the garbage chute, “Guess that’s it for the tour-”

Shiro didn’t wait Romps to finish and immediately dashed out on noodle legs before Romps could even say ‘guess’. He collapsed onto the other side of the wall, hauling his lungs back into his body, taking in gulpfuls of fresh, inviting air. Romps soon joined him, pulling the wall back shut as he went.

“Woah,” Romps exclaimed, “You don’t look so good.”

You think?! Shiro silently screamed in his head as he struggled to swallow the multicoloured heave now rising into his throat.

“Well, guess not everyone gets used to the smell,” Romps stroked his chin as he spoke, “You want some fresh air? I can take you to the balcony.”

Shiro never thought he’d nod this hard in his entire life. Then he immediately regretted it as his head ached when he did it and spun the valve on his stomach, releasing the pressure in his chest to dangerous levels. He couldn’t even bear to look up, as any other stimuli would just release the dam finally

“Right, right… just grab my tail while we go, yeah? Darn, you’re not good with smell, are ya’” Romps commented.

It was more on the fact that Shiro wasn’t really a big fan of smelling decayed foodstuff but he was too busy holding in the rainbow bubbling in his chest.

There was a tinted sliding glass door sitting beside the kitchen that Shiro never saw before. He didn’t bother seeing it anyway, as the moving floorboards was all he could handle. As Shiro clutched weakly onto Romps’ bushy tail as the sheepdog unlocked the door and slid it to the side.

From Shiro’s view, the wooden floor abruptly ended on a metal, sliding door track. He was led out to a ceramic tiled ground that felt chilling to his feet. It was a different kind of chill unlike the wooden floorboards from before. It was a kind of chill that felt wet, and soothed his toes as he walked on it. It was taking his mind off the horrible stench.

“You okay back there?”

Shiro couldn’t answer, so he nodded slightly, hoping Romps would see it.

“You take your time there, yeah,” he said, “Look up when you’re done, I think you’ll enjoy the view.”

Enjoy the view?

That phrase distracted him just enough so that he would look up. He raised his head and got a full view of Romps’ backside. He glanced up to Romps, wondering if this was some joke, but Romps was gazing into a distance beyond Shiro’s sight.

Then he heard crashes and splashes from outside.

Shiro tilted his weak head, looked afar and realized what Romps meant. Suddenly, he didn’t feel sick anymore. There wasn’t enough space in his body to be sick, for he needed room to contain the awe and surprise.

As Shiro glanced into the distance, a dark glimmering ocean glanced back.

Deep, black and bubbling, furious, roaring waves crashed onto the restless surface of the sea sitting right outside, stretching far and beyond to the shining horizon where the lonely moon shined its pale light onto the raging waters. Splashes pummeled against jagged rocks sitting near the mainland where the round, irregular silhouette of the lush forest laid. The rolling waves exploded with the rock walls, shattering into tiny blips of droplets, dousing the air with a salty, smoking scent that invigorated Shiro’s senses, calming him down.

Shiro immediately forgot everything, and dropped himself onto the glass railing, taken by the sight before his eyes.

“You know,” Romps said, “I come down here every time when things go all to pot, or there’s a cock up of some kind. The smell and the sounds… really soothes those nerves-”

“It’s the ocean,” Shiro mumbled.

Romps turned to Shiro, finding it funny that he said it aloud. “Yeah,” he snickered, “no way you could miss it-”

“It’s the sea,” the mixed wolf mumbled again.

“Well,” Romps said, “I can definitely see that-”

Then Shiro cranked his head towards Romps, giving him a fright as he nearly leapt up and cried out, “We’re next to the sea!”

Romps jolted in shock as Shiro shouted their relative location aloud. He jumped up from the glass railing, heaving his body backwards two steps, looking at Shiro’s nonplussed expression. Shiro himself didn’t know he was making quite the face nor the commotion either. He was just giving the appropriate response. It was only when he saw Romps reaction when he realized what he’d done.

“S-Sorry,” he said, sinking down onto the glass railing, “I-It’s my first time seeing it.”

Romps, still slightly startled, heard Shiro’s words. His drumming heartbeat slowly calmed down, his breath returning to normal before he went back to his spot on the railing. He kept his gaze on the embarrassed yet moderately fascinated look in Shiro’s feline-looking eyes as he looked beyond the sea.

“You know,” Romps said, “I got to remind myself you’re different than us every once in a while.”

Shiro abruptly turned towards him as he spoke. The once enchanted gaze in his eyes suddenly dimmed down to a distant, more solemn emotion.

“No, no! Different as in you’re, well, normal compared to the rest of us,” Romps immediately corrected himself, “It’s good to have someone from the normal public in the Academy. It gets too posh and proper with a chock full of ‘elites’ around here anyway. A nice change in pace, you know?”

The glimmer slowly swam back into the red in Shiro’s eyes as Romps quickly spoke. “Oh,” he muttered.

Romps took a small breath of relief and rejoined Shiro on the railing, watching the deep, dark blue roll towards them from the horizon.

Drums pounded in the distance as the currents rushed in from the skyline. It came in torrents, dragging the waters along with the ride, regurgitating foams as it endlessly splashed against land in futility. Light, thundering crashes rung in the night, filling the starless sky with formless company.

“It’s the ocean…” Romps heard Shiro mumble repeatedly and found it amusing.

“Heh, you didn’t know?” Romps poked fun at Shiro.

Shiro turned to Romps, questions in his face, “Know what?”

It took Romps a good while to notice Shiro wasn’t playing along, “You really didn’t know?”

“Know what,” Shiro asked again.

“That we’re on an island and infinitely surrounded by the ocean?”

It was Shiro’s turn to take a while before realizing Romps wasn’t pulling his leg. He didn’t say anything, for he couldn’t think of anything to say. He could only express shock through his perking ears and his tail, now standing on its absolute end with its fur pricking like a cactus.

“Wow,” Romps commented, “They really did you dirty like that?”

Shiro sank back down to the glass railing, slowly taking in the many firsts he’s currently experiencing. “I-I don’t know,” was all he could really say.

“Darn,” Romps said, “I’d probably lose my mind if I suddenly get driven to an island without warning. You’re doing okay for just an ‘I don’t know’.”

Shiro shrugged as he continued staring into the deep blue beyond, with unanswered questions from before that he’d already come to terms with resurfacing once again in the dark ocean that is his mind. At this point, he’s more surprised by his adaptability than anything else. It was the more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. He questioned none when he was sat into a limo; he thought of nothing strange when he was ridiculed on stage, only a tad bit annoyed and tired; and now he’s on an island and finally popped his sea-viewing cherry for once in sixteen years. It was a lot. Too much to take in, in fact. But here he was, resting over a balcony, watching the waves roll along with all the confusion he should’ve had.

What was I thinking, Shiro thought.

Then he hit a wall.

Hold on.

Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on-

Why wasn’t I thinking?

Shiro opened up an entire new page in his head.

Is it something wrong with me? Why didn’t I ask questions? Not during, not after, not whenever. Didn’t even feel suspicious or nothing. I was totally normal to everything.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Uh, Shiro-”

Why wasn’t I thinking?

“S-Shiro-”

Then Shiro snapped back from the depths of his mind.

“Y-yeah?”

Romps had his hand on Shiro’s back, presumably to sooth him and help him relax. It would be the rational truth to take if it wasn’t trembling, with its fingers shaking as if there was a fearful shock to be scared over. Shiro looked towards Romps himself, who had his bearded mouth ajar, speechless and silent. Shiro wondered what’s wrong, and opened his mouth to ask.

Then he finally felt it with his own hands.

Shiro looked down to his arms and immediately stepped back when he saw what he did. The glass railing had broken from the top, shattering all across the surface. Broken, angular webbings spread across the glass, reaching all the way to the middle. Small, tiny holes dotted on the top, where Shiro’s nails once dug into.

Shiro struggled to find words, “I-I-”

“It’s fine, I think,” Romps calmed him, “They’ll probably find a repairman or some sort. Forget about the glass, are your hands okay?”

Shiro brought up his fingers. They were safe and unscathed, though the tips were slightly puffy and swollen. Otherwise, they were unharmed. Still, Shiro was still slightly shook. His knees immediately gave way, and all six feet of him fell against the wall, and slowly slid down towards the ceramic tiles below, slumped and tired.

“Hey, hey,” Romps squatted down with him, “It’s cool. They won’t butcher you over something like this. Some yak from floor seven threw a hissy fit and took out his refrigerator and all he got was a fair warning. You’re gonna be-”

“It’s not that,” Shiro said.

Shiro held onto both his shoulders. His breath was rigid and irregular. His eyes stared into an abyss, far, beyond and distant. His tail laid limp and weak on his lap. His ears dropped to the side of his head. He looked nothing like a wolf in trouble for vandalism, but something else much more internal than that.

Romps could only say such, "Look, it's not much, and we don't know each other so well yet, but you can ask me some things you feel like, eh?"

Shiro brought his drained face towards Romps, where a soothing, friendly grin greeted him back.

"What do you say?"

Shiro gazed at him for a good second before succumbing to a sigh. He nodded, and Romps' grin grew to a radiant beam.

"Come on, get up," he held Shiro by his armpits, "You're gonna get a nasty chill sitting on the floor like that- Ah, right, you best leave that glass alone. Don't want to break it any fur-"

"Romps," Shiro suddenly spoke.

"Yes?"

"Why am I here?"

Romps was suddenly stunned to a loss of words, "I- uh- can't really answer that. Um… how about you tell me how you got here. Take it from the top. Maybe I’ll catch some clues. Maybe you got a different procedure than us. Either way, it helps, don’t you think?”

So Shiro told Romps everything he knew. He talked about the trip in the car and how he thought he was getting sent to a new school. He told him about the alleyway and the rusted gates. He recounted the limo riding through the gates, the driver and the trip, all the way to the end where he was dropped in some unknown place and was told to go through very specific doors and corridors that would lead him to the biggest embarrassment he’d experience this morning.

“Huh,” Romps said when Shiro finished, “So it’s no different than us.”

Shiro shrugged weakly.

“Say,” Romps asked, “Where did you go after the auditorium? I didn’t see you around school after that.”

Then Shiro told him about Miss Secretary and the tour. He described the elevator ride up to Miss Secretary’s office. He talked about the meet-up with Justice, though he left out quite the details, and only summarized it to “he said he wanted to talk”. He spoke about how he was excused, how Miss Secretary gave him the visa that was still hanging over his chest and released him all by himself to the Academy.

“You met the President?!”

“Mr. President,” Shiro instinctively corrected Romps.

“Yeah, yeah,” Romps waved it off, “But you did see him, right? He rarely ever sees anyone. Hell, it’s been half a year since anyone saw him. Tell me, is he really human? No tail, no fur, practically bald?”

“I-I guess,” Shiro answered.

“Heh,” Romps said amusingly, “So, he didn’t answer you?”

Shiro got confused, “What answer?”

“You know, the one about why you’re in the Academy in the first place,” Romps said, “You did ask him, right?”

Shiro was about to answer when he stopped, thought about it, and closed his mouth again. “I-I forgot,” he said.

Romps was left in disbelief for a second before he answered, “Well, shame. What about after that? I still didn’t see you around in Academy grounds. Where were you?”

“I’m held back,” Shiro answered, “I’m a Junior.”

“You're a Junior?”

Shiro nodded.

Romps looked at Shiro for a long while, then he turned to himself, a grin spread across his bearded mouth. “Guess I’m not the runt anymore…” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Romps said, “Anyway, why don’t you try another meeting with the Presi- Mr. Presi- bah, whatever. If he’s willing to see you the first time, he’d probably do it another time. Just give it a shot tomorrow, eh?”

Shiro nodded and took a deep breath. Vigor returned to his body. His tail shot upright, and his ears perked up once more. and glanced back to the ocean.

Both shared a timely silence as the crashes filled the void. They stood there for quite some time, simply listening to the loud rumbles of the nautical activity raging just below their balcony. They savoured the smell of the sea salt wafting into their canine noses, and the soft beatings of the cold wind that came swooping down every once in a while.

Then Romps spoke, "Well, that was fun, but it's about time we officially sign you into the room. And it's also time I think of a good initiation for you. You don't get a "first transfer student of the Academy" as your roommate everyday. Anyway, where's your luggage?"

"Luggage?"

"Yeah, luggage. Your clothes, toiletries, underwear and everything else. You've got it?"

Shiro thought to himself for a second before replying,"Yea, I have one."

"Good, good," Romps said, "So where is it?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Shiro simply shrugged like it wasn't an absolute crisis for him, "The driver put it in the trunk. Left it there, I think."

"Alright, alright, so it's not lost. Okay, at least tell me how it looks. We could probably ask your chauffeur for confirmation."

Shiro thought for a while, then he spoke, "It's an orange plastic bag."

"An orange plastic bag?"

Shiro nodded, "Has my clothes and everything else inside."

"An orange plastic-"

Then Romps stopped mid-sentence and froze on the spot, his mouth half-open and silent.

"Romps?"

"Is your luggage an orange plastic bag the size of an oven, tied into a knot with an open hole on the side, filled to the brim with tracksuits?"

"Y-yea, that orange plastic-"

Before Shiro could finish, Romps slammed the sliding glass door open and dashed into the common room in a sudden burst. Shiro was left surprised for a second. He had no clue what came over Romps, or what made him sprint inside like a Feral dog with rabies.

Then Romps emerged back into the balcony once more about half a minute later, clutching an orange plastic bag the size of an oven, tied into a knot with an open hole on the side, filled to the brim with tracksuits. He came out of breath, with his once smooth fur now reduced into a wild, frenzied state, crisscrossed and messy.

"Got your luggage," Romps panted as he handed it to Shiro.

"T-Thanks," Shiro grabbed it with his hands and opened it to check the contents. Everything was in order. His towel, his toothbrush, his grooming scissors, his tracksuits; everything. Nothing lost, nothing missing.

Though it did suspiciously smell a little like rotten mutton and chicken bones.